Work Text:
Wonwoo is having a very normal Tuesday.
He woke up. He opened his laptop for work. Gamcho sat on his computer so he blamed that for his lack of productivity rather than himself, because who could possibly be mad at her, the ten-pound, stupidly fluffy cat? He made lunch. Finally shooed Gamcho away and just when he sat down to work on some editing, the door opened, Soonyoung and—
“Lee Chan?”
This part is not part of his normal Tuesday routine.
Tuesdays are when Soonyoung is gone for the majority of the day, banished to his dance studio for evening classes, and Wonwoo doesn’t see him until at least ten at night, when Soonyoung comes in shuffling like a zombie demanding Wonwoo’s leftovers.
Not only that, but Soonyoung is always alone when he returns, never comes with any guests, especially not Lee fucking Chan, who Wonwoo normally sees in bar settings among their obnoxiously sized friend group, who is usually squeezed in the corner of a booth next to somebody like Seokmin or something. And usually, Chan is not as scantily clad as he is right now, where he stands before Wonwoo in a workout tank that sits beautifully across his shoulders, showing off a capable-looking pair of strong arms, that Wonwoo thinks he would like to sink his teeth into or something.
Woah. He didn’t really mean that last part.
(Did he?)
“Hi, hyung,” Chan returns, polite, little smile on his lips which blossoms into a full one, all teeth, and round cheeks when Gamcho darts out from where she was perched on a shelf behind Wonwoo, walking figure eights around Chan’s feet. Soonyoung scoops her up, shoving her in Chan’s face.
“Gamcho-yah, say hi,” Soonyoung says in a high-pitched voice, letting Chan give the cat a soft pat on her head.
“Hi, baby,” Chan says to her, and Wonwoo genuinely feels like he’s either just been shot in the stomach or the victim of a super intense, incoming boner.
“There’s a gas leak in our studio building—”
Soonyoung is speaking again and it takes Wonwoo a few seconds to look away from the tiny pout on Chan’s lips as he continues to pet Gamcho for Wonwoo to realize it’s him that Soonyoung is talking to. He blinks, eyes shifting to where Soonyoung is now looming over him, cat quickly abandoned, hands on his hips.
He continues, “—so me and Channie are grabbing smoothies and a shit ton of pastries at the cafe over here. Because we’re hot and sexy and deserve the day off, anyway.”
Wonwoo huffs out a laugh, flicking his eyes back to his computer screen instead of where Chan is laughing at Soonyoung, all silly sounding but looking as hot and sexy as Soonyoung had stated. He presses a few buttons on his keyboard and pretends like he’s doing work and not actually having an internal battle with his lizard brain to not ogle Chan because that’s apparently something he really wants to do right now. God, it’s like Wonwoo has never seen a pair of arms before. Maybe he’s just never seen Chan’s. Has he always been that big?
“Good for you guys,” Wonwoo says, lackluster. He presses the spacebar for the eighth time and Gamcho comes to sit next to him, like she’d like a front-row seat to judge Wonwoo for his little typing charade. “God bless poisonous gas leaks.”
“We don’t know if it’s poisonous yet,” Chan corrects him. “That’s why we had to evacuate.”
“Yeah,” Soonyoung emphasizes, reaching out to flick Wonwoo in the forehead, forcing his attention away from where he’s just typed the sequence 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9 into the document he’s working on. He hopes none of his coworkers turn on the editing and revision history for this. “You want anything?”
“You came all the way here to ask if I wanted anything?” Wonwoo looks up from his laptop and holds a hand over his heart like he’s actually touched and not just being a smartass. “Soonyoung-ah, my darling, beautiful, best friend—”
“I came all this way so we could drop our stuff off,” Soonyoung corrects him, impatient. He gestures to the pile of dance bags in the corner. “So? Iced americano? Milk tea? A lukewarm water?”
Wonwoo makes a face at him but quickly secedes. “Coffee, please.”
“As you wish, your highness,” Soonyoung says with a dramatic bow, stopping on his way down to scratch under Gamcho’s chin. He pitches his voice again as he speaks to her, “Keep Wonu-yah in check for me, little lady. I already escaped one poisonous gas today, I don’t want another.”
“You're dramatic,” Wonwoo tells Soonyoung with a roll of his eyes. He goes back to his word document and types the top row of his keyboard.
“And you set our microwave on fire one time,” Soonyoung reminds him. “People don’t forget.”
“Get out.”
“We’re going, we’re going,” Soonyoung says as he throws his hand at him, dismissive. “Ready, Chan-ah?”
“Was born ready for potentially threatening gas leaks. Is it wrong that I wish this could happen more often?” Chan asks, and Soonyoung laughs, ushering him out towards the door, with a gentle hand wrapped around one of his biceps and holy shit, has Soonyoung’s hands always been that small, or are Chan’s arms just stupidly big now?
“Bye, Wonu hyung,” Chan calls over his shoulder, shooting Wonwoo a tiny smile, just from the corner of his mouth and a warm gleam in his eye. “I’ll see you.”
“Yeah,” Wonwoo agrees helplessly, hoping Chan didn’t catch where Wonwoo was also noticing the way his sweatpants fit him beautifully. “See you.”
Wonwoo hears the door click and then he stares blankly at the wall for a minute, his brain feeling like TV static. He looks down at his laptop and just sees a long row of ‘P’ typed out from where he accidentally let his fingers rest while he shamelessly checked Chan out. He’s suddenly a little sweaty. Also—still vaguely turned on.
Has Chan always been that muscular? Has been hiding underneath oversized sweatshirts and in crushing hello hugs from Joshua for so long that Wonwoo hadn’t noticed? What gym is Lee Chan living in that he looks like that?
He surely did not look like this in college when Wonwoo first met him, back when Seungkwan was forcing Chan to tag along all the time, a little freshman with wide eyes and a vague fear of Choi Seungcheol. Sure, he was cute, Chan has always been endearing and sweet and like, obviously handsome if Wonwoo really thinks about it. But he was not—ripped.
God. Wonwoo feels a chill go through his body.
He closes his laptop, not even bothering to delete the abundance of nonsense he just spent typing there, and places it on the coffee table, letting Gamcho hop onto it before the warmth disperses. He’ll finish work later. Like, when Chan and Soonyoung come back and he locks himself in his room out of fear of catching another glimpse at Chan’s admittedly perky behind.
For now, he needs a shower. A cold one.
* * *
Wonwoo has been hiding in his room for approximately four hours and some stupid amount of minutes.
He got a lot of work done, which was a plus, also finally folded his laundry and even made an embarrassing Naver search of ‘average dancers muscle mass,’ before promptly deleting it with a hard press to the keyboard, deciding now would probably be the best time to face the music and the Soonyoung and come clean.
“So,” Wonwoo starts slowly, flopping into the cushion on the end of the couch opposite Soonyoung, “Chan.”
“My name is Soonyoung,” he says, not even bothering to look away from where he’s got some variety show Wonwoo does not know the name of on. Gamcho is in his lap, belly up, and she stares at Wonwoo from her spot like she’s onceagain judging him. “Or are you practicing some sort of odd roleplay?”
“Roleplay?” Wonwoo stammers. “Actually, fuck you.”
Soonyoung grins, glancing in Wonwoo’s direction. “What about Channie, Wonu?”
If Soonyoung suspects something, he doesn’t make it known. He’s very good at letting Wonwoo flounder, but then again, Wonwoo would like to think he’s very good at keeping his feelings in his pants, so maybe Soonyoung didn’t notice.
“I haven’t seen him in a while,” is what Wonwoo decides to start with because even after four hours in his room, he didn’t devise a plan, just sort of floated through his work day with the distant thought of what Chan might look like shirtless in his mind.
“You saw him on Saturday,” Soonyoung points out, which is unfortunately true. Damn Boo Seungkwan and his love of using the groupchat to make plans.
“Right.” Wonwoo sinks deeper into the couch. He should’ve rehearsed this. He continues, however, uselessly— “His arms.”
“His arms?” Soonyoung looks over at him again, this time wearing a rather incredulous look. “Elaborate on that, cowboy.”
“Don’t call me cowboy, what’s wrong with you?"
Soonyoung shrugs. “What’s wrong with you? What the fuck are you talking about Channie’s arms for?”
Wonwoo sighs, silently accepting defeat. He really should’ve drafted some sort of spiel before he came out here.
“I just mean that Chan looked—fit.”
“Fit,” Soonyoung repeats. It’s silent for a minute, instead, the TV filling the space between them. Soonyoung clicks his tongue, leaning forward for the remote, and pauses it. He pets Gamcho like he’s some sort of evil, movie villain. “You wanna fuck Chan, don’t you?”
Wonwoo feels all the color drain from his face as he laughs. “What? No. No! Why would you—“
“Oh, Jeon Wonwoo, you are slimy!” Soonyoung shrieks, startling Gamcho out of her reverie, causing her to clamber up the loveseat, resting there instead. “Horrid, horny monster. Wonu-yah, were you drooling over Lee Chan today?”
“Shut up, oh my god,” Wonwoo practically begs, hiding his face in his hands. “I was not drooling, I was being normal.”
“You can’t do anything normal,” Soonyoung says. He laughs, all wicked. “So what—you notice he’s muscular and suddenly wanna put his dick in your mouth?”
“I’m not trying to—“ Wonwoo huffs. He does kinda wanna put his dick in his mouth. “I mean—when did it happen? Like, do you guys have an absurd gym at the dance studio or something? He was never this… jacked.”
“Relax, little man, he’s hardly that ripped,” Soonyoung says with a scoff.
“Do not call me lit—“
“Chan started going to the gym with Shua hyung,” Soonyoung begins to explain. He makes a face. “And whatever you do, do not ask Jeonghannie hyung how he’s feeling about Joshua going. Because he might be worse than you when it comes to big boys.”
“Ok, ew, I wasn’t going to,” Wonwoo says, folding his knees up to his chest, holding them there like some sort of weapon to protect himself. “And besides, it’s not even like—a thing for me.”
He thinks about it. Honestly, Wonwoo has never had a specific type in terms of looks when it comes to his previous partners. He likes a certain personality, maybe, but he never got particular about the physicality of it all. Mingyu would probably call Wonwoo desperately horny, but Wonwoo thinks he’s just being a good person and noting that it’s what’s on the inside that counts, rather than looks.
But Wonwoo has eyes, and deep down he does probably have a preference, and Chan is gorgeous, and very much checks all those silent boxes.
“Wasn’t a thing for you,” Soonyoung corrects him, eyes all evil and knowing. “You want Chan to pin you down so bad.”
“I do not,” Wonwoo sort of lies, only because he’s not about to admit that to Soonyoung, no way, that’d be like asking for a death wish. Both literally and figuratively because Soonyoung will make fun of him, but he also sort of thinks he raised Chan and kinda protects him with his life. This is dangerous territory for Wonwoo.
Wonwoo sits up again. He’s decided he has no more care for any subtly, especially because Soonyoung already has him figured out, laid out all vulnerable and horny for one Lee Chan.
“Can I come by the studio tomorrow?”
“Jeon Wonwoo!”
“What?” Wonwoo asks, feigning innocence. He smirks. “I haven’t been in a while. Make any updates?”
“You want to bone Channie.” Soonyoung folds his arms over his chest. “You wanna watch him bend and—move his body in all the right ways your perverted, gross brain wants him to.”
Wonwoo honestly didn’t even consider the flexibility aspect of Chan until right now. And well, now that’s—-probably a thing now, too.
“I also want to see the studio.”
“You do not!” Soonyoung points an accusing finger at him, face getting all serious and strict. The kind of face he pulls when Hansol is doing something slightly irresponsible, because Soonyoung thinks he raised him too, kinda. “Why are you even bringing this up to me? Do you want my blessing or something? Do you think I am the godfather of letting you fuck my best friend?”
“I thought I was your best friend,” Wonwoo says through a pout, only half kidding.
(He’s only been stuck with Soonyoung for the past fifteen years or so but like, whatever. He gets it. He is not Lee Chan.)
“You’re like… Gamcho to me,” Soonyoung says slowly. “A little friend that follows me around and that I have to feed or they’ll die.”
"Oh, gee, thank you, Soonyoung-ah, just what a guy wants to—“
“Yah, listen to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says then, sitting up and turning his body, grabbing onto Wonwoo’s shoulders. He shakes him a little, which Wonwoo does not find at all necessary. “Godfather or not, I am putting my foot down. Please don’t fuck Channie.”
“What?” Wonwoo whines a little. “Why not?”
“Horndog!” Soonyoung shakes another disapproving finger at him. “You can’t fuck your friends. That’s like, the golden rule.”
“Where?”
“Gay bible or something.” Soonyoung lets go of him and frowns. “One second you’re just bumping and grinding and the next—you’re destroying the friend group from the inside out. Or worse, you’re married. Look at Hansolie and Seungkwan, for example. Do you want to end up married at the tender age of twenty-six?”
“First of all, I am twenty-seven, so I think that ship has sailed,” Wonwoo reminds him, unimpressed. Soonyoung scoffs. “But also—they’re not even married?”
“Semantics,” Soonyoung says with a roll of his eyes. “You can’t fuck Chan. It’ll mess up the space-time continuum.”
“You need to relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax,” Soonyoung says, livid. “Tell the thing in your pants to relax.”
“Gross,” Wonwoo says, “don’t talk about my appendages like that.”
“Don’t call it an appendage.” Soonyoung groans, sinking deeper into the couch. “Look, you just—you can’t fuck him. You did this to me in college with Changkyun. He was like, my friend, and then you slept with him and made it weird! And then you did it again with Momo from the dance team senior year, and now, now, you want to do it with my precious, baby Chan. Just download a hookup app and fuck someone there like a normal person!”
“Ok, in my defense, Changkyun was like, a total transactional thing. We were both suffering from like, really bad dry spells!” Wonwoo tries to plead. “We didn’t even like each other!”
“Still made it weird!” Soonyoung insists. He flicks Wonwoo on the forehead. “Just seriously promise you won’t sleep with him. I am tired of you slutting out with my friends.”
“Slutting out?” Wonwoo is appalled. He is dignified, thank you very much. Sure, the thoughts in his head are anything but dignified, but Soonyoung doesn’t have to know that. “I am not—”
Soonyoung gives him a look. Mixed between a pouty frown and just pure anger. His bottom lip is stuck all the way out and Wonwoo actually feels bad for a second. Even if Soonyoung is just being a terrible cockblocker.
“Fine,” he agrees, somewhat reluctantly. Then just so he can seem a little less like a total douche, “I wasn’t going to actually sleep with him anyway.”
“You’re only saying that because I called you out,” Soonyoung argues. He leans forward, unpausing his drama, satisfied with Wonwoo’s compliance. “Besides, if you’re only into him now because of his muscles, then you don’t deserve him anyway. Lee Chan should be loved and appreciated regardless.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I do appreciate him. He always laughs at my jokes.”
“Yes, even though they’re bad,” Soonyoung says, rudely. “Now get out. You’re still radiating a horrible, horny energy and I don’t want to be reminded of it.”
“I live here.”
“My Channie!”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, however obliging, heading back to his room to no longer think about how Chan might look, muscles flexed and eyes blown with pleasure, but instead, to sulk, to wallow, and to hopefully, get over it. There is plenty of newly muscular fish in the sea, or however the saying goes.
Right?
* * *
Unfortunately, Wonwoo thinks about it. It, being Chan, and the way he’s like, super hot these days, which is only enforced when Wonwoo does a shameless stalk of his Instagram later that week because despite being a supportive friend and liking all of his posts, he never realized he likes them.
Chan cuddling with his cousin’s dog. Chan at a dance competition smiling next to Minghao. Chan shirtless on the beach with Junhui and Seungkwan—and that one was his favorite for obvious reasons, though he could probably do without Junhui’s weird belly button which is probably beside the point right now. Because the point is: has he always been this hot?
Maybe it’s only been recently. Wonwoo thinks back on all the time he’s known Chan BH—Before Hotness—and comes up fruitless. Maybe it came when he turned twenty-five. He did start the night of his birthday with a shot and a declaration of, and this Wonwoo remembers as a direct quote, “this year I am getting what I fucking want,” which maybe was just in reference to a really hot bod, and like, a super structured jawline all of a sudden.
More importantly, though, Wonwoo thinks of Soonyoung—yuck—and how adamant he had been that he didn’t sleep with Chan. Which frankly, is kinda annoying. I mean, what kinda friend wishes you to suffer from an awful case of blue balls when Wonwoo could be solving all that while showing Lee Chan a proper good time? A bad friend, that’s who.
But Soonyoung is Soonyoung, and he also sort of accused Wonwoo of doing this often, which—
“Am I a slut?”
“Literally or figuratively?” Junhui asks, not even bothering to look up from the game he is so intensely invested in on his phone, legs pulled up against him at the kitchen table.
Next to him is Jihoon, who, like Wonwoo, is here to do work, gigantic headphones over his ears that Wonwoo knows he’s only wearing so no one talks to him. It’s a useless attempt, anyway, because Junhui would talk to the dead and not once stop for a reply, and Wonwoo obviously came here for reasons beyond just ‘missing his buddies and wanting some quality time,’ which is how he invited himself over to Jihoon and Junhui’s place, and not at all for reasoning that might have to do with the fact that Lee Chan could show up at his apartment at any time again, all because of a potentially poisonous gas leak, with the best-looking face in the world.
“How can I figuratively be a slut?” Wonwoo is afraid to know the answer, but he asks, anyway.
He fidgets with the case of his laptop next to him, mentally deciding he’s had enough pretending to work today, and then distantly thinks that whoever came up with the idea of working from home is sort of the stupidest person alive and also a genius whom which he owes his life to.
“I don’t know.” Junhui shrugs. He sets his phone down, clearly more excited now that someone will talk to him because Junhui is blessed enough to live off TV residuals from child acting, and instead spend his time now just occasionally posing with free stuff on Instagram. Your semi-unemployed friend on a Thursday afternoon is just fucking around and they are asking you if you are a literal or figurative slut. He continues, “Like, sometimes Jihoonie calls me that. Obviously, I’m not one, I’m only sleeping with him. But he still—”
Jihoon tugs his headphones off, eyes wide and filled with something akin to rage. “Yah, Jun-ah!”
“Oh, so now you can hear us,” Junhui says with a scoff. “But before when I was asking you if you’d still love me if I went back to school to be a mime—”
“I was working,” Jihoon defends himself, sitting back in his seat, eyes squinting at Wonwoo. “Which I thought we were all doing. Why are you asking if we think you’re a slut? Don’t you have like—spreadsheets to look at?”
“I don’t deal with spreadsheets,” Wonwoo says. They need to have a debriefing about what they all do for a living one night. “And anyway, the slut thing is more important than all the little buttons you’re pressing right now, so can we focus on that?”
“We shouldn’t have let him into our home,” Jihoon says gravely to Junhui, who just frowns, giving Jihoon a solid pat on the head like one might to an old cat.
“Who’s calling you a slut?” Junhui asks, moving the conversation along beautifully. “If it’s not the fun way, that’s kinda shitty.”
“You need to stop hinting at your sex life,” Wonwoo says, a vague threat.
Jihoon leans forward, eyes a little wide. “If we keep talking about it, will you leave?”
Wonwoo thinks about it for a minute. “Probably not,” he decides. Then, “But Soonyoungie is slutshaming me, for your information. He said I always sleep with his friends and make things awkward and ruin his life with my dick. Which is crazy because he hasn’t even seen my dick in years.”
Junhui hums, like he’s truly considering all of what Wonwoo just said. He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “You do kinda sleep with all his friends.”
“Jun-ah!” Wonwoo is outraged. He should’ve never trusted Wen Junhui with anything this precious. He should’ve gone to Seokmin, who probably would have just patted him on the back and told him very gently that words do not define you or something.
“Sorry?” Junhui doesn’t sound sorry. “I guess in your defense, you’re not necessarily trying to sleep with these people, it just sort of happens. Like, honestly, everywhere we go, people just flock to you. You don’t even have any game. You’re just hot.”
“Ok, if I wanted to get the shit kicked out of me, I would’ve just stayed at home with Soonyoung.”
Jihoon weighs in, “Junnie has a weird point—though, he did make it kinda rudely—”
“It’s not rude to tell the truth, my love.”
“In any case, you do have a pretty long history of sleeping with Soonyoungie’s friends, but also—random people,” he finishes. “Remember the instructor at that pottery class we did?”
Wonwoo does remember, considering that was the weirdest experience of his life. I mean, there’s nothing that sexy about fluorescent art studio lighting, but it was very rewarding. That guy was, expectedly, very good with his hands.
“I still blame Jeonghannie hyung for that,” Wonwoo says pointedly. He sniffs. “Everything he made was shaped like a dick.”
“I blame your loserish charm and defined cheekbones,” Junhui counters. Wonwoo doesn’t know if it’s a compliment or not.
“Who are you trying to sleep with now, anyway?” Jihoon asks, almost like he doesn’t even want to know, but he’s like, legally required to ask or something. He looks back at his computer, fingers aggressively hitting a few more buttons. “You don’t even leave the house.”
“I left it today.”
“I wish you hadn’t.”
“Not trying to sleep with anyone, anyway,” Wonwoo lies. Then, with the least smooth transition he can make, “Also, completely off topic. But is it just me or is Channie kinda hot these days?”
It’s silent for a second, the only sounds being the distant hum of the refrigerator running and the fan of Jihoon’s laptop willing it not to overheat. Junhui blinks. Then Jihoon does.
“You’re right that was off-topic,” Jihoon finally says. He purses his lips, leaning back in his seat.
Junhui, completely unhelpful, adds, very matter-of-factly, “Chan’s always been hot. Now that’s a loserish charm you can’t replicate.”
“I’m starting to fear the reason why you really like me,” Jihoon says, turning to Junhui slowly, who sort of just coos, with another pat to his head.
“Because of your giant heart and equally giant dick,” Junhui explains like that makes any of it better, and Jihoon groans, slumping down in his chair. With sudden clarity, Junhui continues, “Wait. Did you wanna fuck Chan? Wonu-yah, holy shit.”
Wonwoo feels the color drain from his face, safe for his ears, which are likely beet red. His palms are sweaty. Oh, god, he is not good at keeping secrets. He really should’ve gone to Seokmin.
“No,” he decides to lie again. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you were just talking about how Soonyoungie was slutshaming you and then you—implied that Chan would be hot enough to… sleep with,” Jihoon points out, though Wonwoo did not need that, and quite honestly, would have rathered him not say it at all.
“I didn’t imply anything,” he argues. “I’m just saying he got weirdly muscular lately. Like, I heard Shua hyung was also working out. Has anyone seen him? Is he just as bad? Does anyone know what kinda weights they’re lifting? Is no one else disturbed by the fact that Chan has a lot of muscle mass and is just sort of sauntering around like that? What if he can’t fit his arms into his sweaters when Winter rolls around again?"
“No?” Jihoon tries, just at the same time that Junhui offers, “Oh my god, please do not mention Joshua hyung. The other day I went to lunch with Jeonghannie and he talked about Joshua’s arms for a good fourteen minutes. I’m not even sure he knew he was doing it. Maybe we should put a stop to it. Honestly, I’m game, Wonu-yah, just tell me how.”
Jihoon puts a hand on Junhui, a silent we’re not doing that, please calm down, and Junhui sinks back into his chair, a tiny pout on his lips. Wonwoo actually needs his help, thank you, but Jihoon is continuing before he can even protest.
“You’re being weird,” is what he starts with.
“I am not.” He is. He so is. “But like, let’s say that I hypothetically did wanna do Chan—”
“Jeon Wonwoo!”
“I’m sorry!” Wonwoo says and he really does mean it. He did not mean to spend the past week thinking about Lee Chan. It’s not like he wanted to become this way. But it’s like the age-old saying goes—you either die a hero or live long enough to become a horny monster. Or whatever it is. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Soonyoungie will kill me if I do. Plus, I’ll probably make things weird, and then I’ll ruin our friendship, and then no one will talk to me except for like, maybe Mingyu, just because he feels like he owes it to me, but like—Mingyu? Of all people? I’d rather just die horny and pining.”
Silent again, just for a beat.
“Wonu-yah,” Junhui says slowly. He’s kinda laughing. “Aw. Are you like, ok?”
Before Wonwoo can respond—angrily, irritated, do I look ok, Moon Jun?—Jihoon does instead, “I don’t see what the real problem is. Hasn’t the entire past year been Channie trying to—”
“Jihoon,” Junhui says suddenly, sternly, and then he kinda just—stares at him, eyes all big like he’s trying to explode Jihoon with his mind. Wonwoo has no idea what any of it means, but he does know he’s mildly scared. Should he be?
“Seriously?” Jihoon groans, apparently understanding whatever telepathic message Junhui is trying to burn into his skull with his retinas, and Wonwoo now is entirely scared. “You’re going to make it worse, Jun-ah.”
“No, you,” Junhui shoots back immaturely, and then he leans forward, hands reaching out to grab at Wonwoo, Junhui’s fingers wrapping around Wonwoo’s wrists. “I have information regarding Kwon Soonyoung that you need to take to the grave.”
“What?” Wonwoo pulls his hands back. “You’re scaring me. If this is another sex thing, I don’t wanna know.”
“What?” Junhui echoes. “It’s not a—well, it is, but it’s not like a sex thing. It’s just like, a thing that happens to involve sex, kinda, but it’s not—”
“I told you you were going to make it worse,” Jihoon says. He sits back in his seat and folds his arms like it’s all out of his hands now. Like he’s just going to relax and watch it all go up in probable flames.
“I’m ignoring you, Lee Jihoon,” Junhui says, and he doesn’t even look in Jihoon’s direction, so he misses the eye roll Jihoon gives him, as well as the laugh he swallows down. Junhui clears his throat. Then, “Soonyoungie is trying to sleep with Seokmin.”
“Seokmin?” Wonwoo frowns, leaning forward now as well. Jihoon, across the table, sighs. “Like, my Seokmin?”
“Yes,” Junhui confirms, like they know any other Seokmin’s, and also like being the one to introduce Seokmin to the friend group back in uni constitutes Seokmin as his still. But like, on a technicality, Seokmin was his friend first. They were lab partners. They dissected a frog brain together. Wonwoo watched Seokmin faint over the very idea of it one time. They’re bonded. He finishes, “Which is kinda hypocritical if you ask me. I mean, putting a ban on Channie when he’s trying to jump Seokmin’s bones? Low blow.”
“You literally told Soonyoung to go for it last week,” Jihoon interrupts, but Junhui quickly shushes him.
“I can play both sides,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Why should both my friends suffer? I’m just looking out.”
“Like I said,” Jihoon reiterates, “you’re going to make it—"
“So Soonyoung is trying to fuck Seokminie, but I can’t want Chan,” Wonwoo concludes. He looks up like he’s truly processing it all and also cursing Kwon Soonyoung to every god that may listen. “He’s so evil.”
“I know,” Junhui agrees. “And just so we’re all on the same page, you’re definitely trying to slut out with Channie, right?”
Wonwoo shoots him a look, frowning. “I am not slutting out. He’s just—really cool!”
“I know that,” Junhui says defensively. He sits back finally, stretching his whole body out, kicking his legs up to lean on Jihoon’s chair. “Now use that information wisely, Jeon Wonwoo. And if anyone asks, I didn’t say anything, ok? It’d kill Soonyoung to know I broke our Gemini blood pact.”
“Then maybe don’t go spilling his secrets in the first place,” Jihoon says and then he seems to think about it for a minute. “Wait. Did you guys seriously make a blood pact?”
Junhui shrugs. “I would never tell.”
“Glad to see you have some morals left,” Jihoon says, clearly unamused.
He’s frowning, but he’s got a hand around one of Junhui’s ankles, fingers gently brushing against the skin, so it’s obvious he’s all talk. Wonwoo would probably care more if he wasn’t mentally processing all that information that’s just been dumped on him. Goddammit.
He’s going to kill Kwon Soonyoung. Literally and figuratively.
* * *
Seungkwan does these mandatory monthly hangouts. He says it's because they’re all grown now and don’t get to see each other as often, but Wonwoo thinks it’s just because he always finds killer group-ons, and is consequently getting credit card points by always booking these kinda things.
Besides, Wonwoo probably sees his friends more than he sees his own family at this point, and if not for that, then the constant updates they are all sending in the groupchat would be enough. But still, they go, because it’s easier than hearing Seungkwan complain about how whoever has skipped does not value their friendship and wishes they’d all die, and now, well.
It gives Wonwoo a chance to see Chan again.
“You wanna fuck him, don’t you?”
It is not the conversation Wonwoo guesses you should be having at a claw machine filled with an assortment of plushies—that was the current hang-out; one of those bars that doubles as an arcade that is literally designed for you to fail at and blow all your money on—but Jeonghan stops for nothing, not even social ques and stuffed cats.
“What?” Wonwoo asks him. He frowns, tearing his gaze from where he is, admittedly, staring at Chan, who is currently engaged in a heated game of skeeball against Minghao. Minghao does not find it nearly as heated as Chan seems to. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Am I that obvious?”
At this, Jeonghan laughs, an evil little chuckle. “Honestly, I was half kidding. Did you actually wanna do Channie? Wonu-yah, for shame.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, slumping against the claw machine Jeonghan is situated in front of, eyes scanning all his options. Leave it to Yoon Jeonghan to pry a confession out of him by accident.
“Soonyoungie wants to do Seokmin,” Wonwoo says, just to turn the conversation elsewhere and now Jeonghan justshrugs.
He’s still not looking at him as he says, “Fork found in kitchen. Why are you thirsting over Chan? When did the sexual epiphany come?”
“Can you not call it that?” Wonwoo groans, just as Jeonghan finally slips a few coins into the claw machine, and the funky techno music starts, and he gets to work. “But I don’t know. He’s—he looks different these days. Am I slimy?”
“For wanting a little piece of Chan?”
“Again,” Wonwoo sighs, “can you not say it like that?”
“I don’t think you’re slimy, Jeon Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says definitively. The claw that he’s working with nearly picks up a creepy-looking rabbit, and then he loses it. He swears under his breath. “You gonna make a move?”
“No,” Wonwoo says instantly and then he thinks about it for another second. Jeonghan puts more coins in the machine. “Wait. Can I?”
“Of course, you can,” Jeonghan says. The music starts again. “Who’s gonna tell you no? Him?”
Jeonghan throws a hand up to the sky as he says. Capital-H-Him, he means. God.
“No,” Wonwoo says again. He holds back a laugh. “Worse. Soonyoungie.”
“Maybe Soonyoung just has a crush on you. Maybe he’s jealous and wants you to himself and is preventing you from hopping into bed with Channie for his own, personal gain. Star-crossed lovers.”
“There is nothing star-crossed about Kwon Soonyoung and I,” Wonwoo says flatly.
Jeonghan hums. “What’s Soonyoungie stopping you for, anyway? If he wants to do Seokmin, that is.”
“Excellent question.” Wonwoo sighs and watches once more as Jeonghan loses the creepy-looking rabbit. “I decided I don’t care, I think. Any tips on trying to get in his pants?”
“Fucking shit,” Jeonghan swears, in anger, of course, at the ugly bunny. He huffs out a breath and then turns to Wonwoo with a frown. “No. If I had any ideas, I’d use them to get into Shua’s. And right now all I have is this bunny that looks like has a human soul trapped in it, who doesn’t wanna come home with me. Are you any good at these things?”
Wonwoo laughs, eyeing the heinous-looking stuffed animal once more. It does look like there’s a human soul trapped inside. Perfect for Jeonghan and Joshua.
“No, nor do I feel like wasting my money on something that looks utterly haunted,” he says. “Besides, why are you trying to get into his pants? You’re already dating.”
“And he’s much bigger now than he used to be,” Jeonghan says quickly. He clicks his tongue, sort of scoffs even, like Wonwoo is ridiculous for even pointing out something like that. “He’s getting hotter and muscly and I can’t be getting comfortable just because we got a few good years in the bank. Romance is about the element of surprise, my sweet, stupid Wonwoo-yah.”
“Hey!”
“Hi.” Jeonghan puts in the last of his coins. “In any case, I wouldn’t expect you to know since your experience with romance only goes as far as one-night stands with baristas and Soonyoungie’s friends.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes and sulks a little as he slumps against the machine. Through the glass of it, Wonwoo can see Chan still, can see the way he falls over a little when he laughs, see the way his defined arms bulge a little in his tee as he grips at Mingyu’s arm, shaking him for more game tokens, and he feels a little lightheaded. He needs to do something before—
“Fucking finally!”
It’s Jeonghan and the creepy rabbit. He’s cradling it like it’s a newborn baby now, all like the freak he is.
“Oh, she’s so ugly,” he coos, looking extremely proud of himself. “You can be the godfather, Wonu.”
“No thank you.”
Jeonghan ignores him. “Anyway—my real advice for you and Chan? Just tell him. You’ve gotten yourself into plenty of other hookups accidentally. If you actually try this time, I’m sure he’d say yes.”
Wonwoo gapes a little again. “I can do that?”
“Duh.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. The creepy bunny almost looks like she’s matching his expression. “Again—who’s gonnastop you? Kwon Soonyoung? He eats cookie crisps for breakfast.”
Jeonghan has a point, but Wonwoo doesn’t get to admit that because then he’s making a beeline to where Joshua is currently watching Seungkwan absolutely cream Junhui in some sort of basketball game. Wonwoo knows that Seungkwan will feel terrible for it later.
Creepy stuffed rabbit and Seungkwan’s soft spot for Junhui aside, though, Wonwoo turns towards Chan again, this time more sure of himself, mentally hyping himself up for what’s next.
Hi, Chan-ah. Win any games yet? Cool, you’re so talented and must have great wrist strength for skeeball. Wanna get out of here so I can finally put your dick in my mouth?
Ok, he’ll work on it. In the short six feet it takes Wonwoo to get to Chan that is, because there isn’t much time to be rehearsing the way Wonwoo is about to sweep him off his feet, especially when he’s right—
“Hey.”
And that is not Chan. It’s the employee that helped check them in for Seungkwan’s major group-on or whatever before—her name tag says Sooyoung—and she’s pretty, and has a nice smile, but she’s not at all who Wonwoo would like in his way right now.
“Uh,” Wonwoo stammers. “Hi?”
She smiles, the nice smile again, and then, slowly, “This might be forward, but I like—think you’re really cute, and so, again, I know this is probably weird, but I—”
Wonwoo chances a glance over her shoulder then, just around the time she asks if she could get his number, eyes falling on Chan, who—well; if looks could kill, Wonwoo and poor Sooyoung with the good smile would be ten feet under right now. What the hell is that about?
“Sorry,” Wonwoo says quickly. She looks a little taken aback. Did he interrupt her? Oh, great, now Wonwoo’s going tofeel bad about that for days. “I actually, uhm—”
Chan looks away, but Wonwoo’s eyes stay on him, and now Sooyoung turns around, too.
“Oh,” she says like she gets it. She probably does; Wonwoo is not being very subtle, the pathetic, gay loser he is. “Uh, ok. This was embarrassing and terrible. Enjoy your night!”
Wonwoo tries to be nice—weakly calls out a you, too!—before he finally closes the space to get to Chan, who’s still standing there, skee ball in hand and Minghao to his left. Minghao looks a bit more entertained than Chan does.
“Another one, hyung?” he says, eyes following Wonwoo’s latest flirty stranger, and goddammit, he definitely cut her off, he definitely feels bad.
“Like, no,” Wonwoo excuses stupidly. He rolls his eyes. “I told her I wasn’t interested.”
Actually, I was watching Chan like I wanna eat him—which I kind of do, for the record—and she got the hint, Wonwoo does not say.
“Shocker,” Chan says slowly, almost a little judgemental or—something else that Wonwoo can’t quite place, but he’s smiling when he says it, so Wonwoo feels less gross about the whole thing and instead a little endeared by the sweet upturn of Chan’s lips. “You don’t usually pass up an opportunity, hyung.”
“Not purposely,” Wonwoo insists, because he’d like that to be known, thank you very much. “People just—”
“I’m walking away,” Minghao interrupts, peering over Wonwoo to get a glimpse at their other friends. “I think Soonyoungie hyung is trying to seduce Seokmin, which is miles more entertaining than… all this, so.”
“What?” Wonwoo feels offended. Should he be offended?
“Nothing,” Minghao says flatly. He shoots Chan a quick look then, the kind that’s full of like, a gazillion things that Wonwoo usually needs Junhui to decipher for him because Minghao has this weird unspoken way of communicating sometimes that Wonwoo just can’t read. Chan squints back at him, like maybe he gets it. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye?”
And then there was—two. Oh, no. Is Wonwoo really supposed to make his confession right now? Wait, what is he even really confessing again?
“Having fun, hyung?” Chan asks then, cutting the subtle tension from whatever Minghao meant and the not-so-subtle war Wonwoo is currently fighting with his own mind. “I saw you with Jeonghannie hyung for like, a while."
“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo says passively. He also silently hopes Chan is still shit at reading lips. “He wanted to win a haunted rabbit to gift Joshua. Like some sort of fucked up promise ring.”
“Sounds about right,” Chan says with a laugh. He’s still holding a skee ball, rolling it back and forth in his hands, flashing lights from the machine behind him bouncing off the curves of his face perfectly. “Well, what about you? Did you, uh—want anything? While over there?”
Wonwoo’s throat gets a little dry. He shifts on his feet, a bit awkwardly, if he’s being honest, and then shrugs.
“The claw machine?” he asks. “No. All the stuff probably has like, lice.”
“That’s—gross,” Chan says. He frowns and then drops the ball back into the rack and takes a tiny step closer to Wonwoo. Miniscule, really, but Wonwoo, of course, notices. “Wasn’t really talking about the claw machine, though.”
“Oh.” Wonwoo nods. That’s wonderful. Wonwoo is incredibly lost. “Well, what are you—”
“Over here,” Chan says slowly. Another step closer. He gets a little—uncharacteristically soft then, like his tone of voice and the gaze he kinda shoots at Wonwoo, vaguely coquettish and if Wonwoo didn’t know any better, flirty, which makes him feel all kinds of weird. But the good weird. “You kept—looking over. At me?”
Abort, abort, abort. Fuck. Wait, no—this is good? This is bad. Is this the time to confess? Is this the time to deny and lie? Does Chan even mean it in a flirty way?
“What?” Wonwoo’s palms are sweating now. In the distance, he gets sight of the possessed bunny, now snug in Joshua’s arms, just staring at Wonwoo like she’s mocking him. He silently calls to her for some sort of otherworldly help. It does not work. “No, why would I—I wasn’t like. Looking at you. Ha-ha.”
As soon as he says it, Wonwoo knows he’s fucked up. Chan’s shoulders deflate. He sits into his hip a little like he’s defeated, and Wonwoo contemplates either throwing up or just surrendering to the murderous rabbit and calling it quits.
Had Chan seriously been flirting with him? Is this—was that—
“Yeah, it was—I was joking,” Chan says smoothly. Then, “I think I’m gonna go play some air hockey with Hansolie hyung, so, uh. Later.”
“Ok,” Wonwoo says uselessly, feeling the awful, gross feeling in his stomach grow about two times larger. This is way worse than cutting off Sooyoung with the nice smile. “Have like, fun.”
“Will do,” Chan says, and then he’s gone, sticking himself to Hansol’s side, who is only mildly confused by it.
Wonwoo should’ve tried to win him over with a claw machine murder bunny.
* * *
Chan is frowning when he opens the door for Wonwoo, which he guesses is warranted.
I mean, he did just sort of inadvertently reject Chan—something he seriously did not want to do—and then he didn’t even get to give Chan a real goodbye, and now he’s shown up unannounced, still smelling like arcade nachos and slushies, hoping to grovel a little. He’s absolutely not who Chan wants to see right now, probably, but—
“I need to talk to you.”
He’s sort of out of breath; for some reason, he took the stairs, all the way up to the seventh floor, mind you, even though the elevator was free, and quite literally waiting in the lobby. Goddammit.
”Me?” Chan repeats, a mixture of surprise and annoyance in his voice, which makes Wonwoo feel uneasy. “Why would you—we just saw each other.”
So Chan is playing it cool. That’s fine. Completely normal survival instinct to initiate in a crisis. Wonwoo’s go-to is usually yapping until he has unfortunately shared all his deepest darkest secrets, but to each his own. He’s definitelyprobably going to yap now, though.
”Yes,” Wonwoo says slowly, and then he gestures over Chan’s shoulder as if to silently ask if he can come in, and Chan, despite a moment of hesitation, allows. His apartment is empty, which Wonwoo knows for a fact because Mingyu went out with Seungcheol, and tomorrow when they wake up to another text about how they accidentally slept together again, Mingyu will blame Chan for not being a more controlling roommate. “But I never—uh. I wanted to say something. To you.”
”Ok, I guess,” Chan says, doesn’t sound too excited about it, which again, warranted. He shuts the door and turns around, looking unusually tiny in his foyer. Like he’s all broken down or something. Oh, god, Wonwoo has destroyed his bravado. “What’s up, hyung?”
“Uh,” Wonwoo stammers.
What is up?
Sorry for rejecting you if you were coming onto me, I know Soonyoung will say you weren’t, but our conversation back there felt sexually charged, and I’d like to tell you I was into it, into you.
”You left the Bulbasaur you won with Hansolie,” is what he decides on.
Chan looks at him for a second, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “You came all this way just to tell me that?”
”Uh,” Wonwoo tries again, “no?”
”No,” Chan repeats slowly. He shifts then, sort of like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of his tee shirt. It’s a good shirt. Fits his shoulders nicely. Is Wonwoo staring? “So if it’s not that—“
”You were coming onto me.”
Oh, that’s not how he was supposed to—
”Uh.” Now it’s Chan’s turn for that. His cheeks are red. Oh, god, he’s cute. “What?”
“Before,” Wonwoo scrambles to clarify, because yes, Chan is adorable, but no, Chan is embarrassed and he shouldn’t be, he really shouldn’t be, especially because Wonwoo is— “At the arcade. You like, said that thing, about me looking at you, and then I—well I got all weird, didn’t I? But I wasn’t trying to make it weird, you were fine, it was a me thing, and I—“
”Oh, god,” Chan says, shaking his head, and then he shuffles past Wonwoo to his couch, throwing himself down on it. He looks wildly distraught. Like, worse than Seungcheol was when he repeatedly lost at air hockey before. “Seungkwannie hyung told me I should just go for it. He is so fucking dead. I’m totally swapping out his cleanser for cooking oil.”
”Seungkwan is—wait, what?”
Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to be confused. He probably should’ve rehearsed this, too. Winging it is not his strong suit, he is realizing.
“Hyung,” Chan says gravely and then looks up, still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, though a little more rapidly now. Like it’s a real nervous tick or something. “I’m just going to say something, just so we can get it over with, and then we can all move on with our lives.”
Wonwoo does not speak, too swept up in the situation with absolutely zero idea of where it is headed. So Chan continues.
”I—like you,” is what he starts with, and Wonwoo momentarily thinks he is tripping on acid. “I’ve liked you for a while, and this year I made a stupid promise to myself that I could totally bag you because even though you’re super hot, you’ve also got this—kinda loser thing going. Which I like, for the record.”
“Thank… you?”
“You’re welcome, but I’m not finished,” Chan says dismissively. “Anyway. I think you’re cute and you’re funny and you’re nice to me, but you also are like, always hooking up with random people every time we go anywhere. I mean, remember that time at the beach?”
“Oh, right.” Wonwoo does remember. “That lifeguard who helped Mingyu with his jellyfish sting.”
“Right.” Chan does not look impressed. “So I started—going to the gym and doing squats that hurt so bad because Shua hyung is an insane personal trainer, I mean, really, he sort of has no mercy, but I just—well. I wanted you to notice me instead of hot lifeguards and arcade employees. Which in hindsight, sounds pathetic. So I hope that I never lift another dumbbell for a man again.”
Chan finishes, huffing out a sigh, and finally stopping his worried hands to fold them neatly in his lap, as if to say there, fine, that’s all, do with it as you wish. And Wonwoo, well—he’s got like, at least fourteen different things he wants to do with Chan’s cute, little, folded hands alone, never mind the confession, and what it all means, and Chan himself. He’s like, definitely on an acid trip, he thinks.
”Now,” Chan says solemnly, “if you’re gonna laugh, or pity me, or be so repulsed you vomit on Mingyu hyung’s Pottery Barn rug and then never speak to me again, I’d rather you just do it quickly so I can get it over with. I’ll need to call Seungkwannie for emotional reinforcement and I’d prefer that I call him before he lets Hansol hyung put it in.”
Wonwoo’s still processing. He knows he should say something, knows he needs to say something, but his brain is sounding all the emergency alarms right now, and it’s like the whole inside is just plastered with Chan, post-gym selfies and cute laughter over something Soonyoung has just done and his funny stories and admittedly pink lips, pouty like they are right now as he—
“I wanna kiss you.”
Ah, well. That’s always something to say.
The ball of confusion has been tossed back to Chan’s court. “What?” he says.
”That’s why I came here, I have like—“ Wonwoo steps forward, closer to Chan, and then sort of stops. “Fuck. Have you really liked me?”
”Can we talk after this?” Chan asks, and he’s pouting again, only this time he’s standing up while he does, stepping into Wonwoo’s space until his lips land squarely on Wonwoo’s own, close-lipped for a minute, just a second of awkwardness before Wonwoo realizes what’s happening, and snaps the fuck out of it.
There was nobody that could have foreseen Wonwoo’s week ending this way. I mean, it was just Tuesday that he was first drooling over him—yes, fine, he can admit he sort of drooled—and then he went on a whole journey of self-reflection and how he may be a slut by accident, and then again with Soonyoung and how he’s a hypocritical monster, and now he’s, well, Chan is—
“Fuck,” Chan swears when they pull away, and Chan’s eyes are sparkly, and his lips are kinda slick, and Wonwoo feels like his death is near. “I wanted to do that for so long.”
“You like, could have,” Wonwoo offers lamely, and then Chan frowns, plants his hands at Wonwoo’s waist and sort ofgrips the material of his shirt there, dragging him closer and turning them around, letting Wonwoo’s knees hit the couch, falling onto it. Wonwoo pretends like he does not care that Chan has sort of just manhandled him into this, and he also does not care when Chan climbs on top of him, strong thighs bracketing Wonwoo in place.
”Was I supposed to know that?” Chan asks. He tilts his head like it’s a genuine question. “Was I seriously supposed to get that from the way you let a pottery guy fuck you?”
”That was like—“ Wonwoo tries to come up with a rebuttal, but Chan is still sturdy and solid and warm on top of him and it becomes very, very hard all of a sudden. Like—all of it. “A while ago.”
“I didn’t forget,” Chan says, a little bitterly, maybe, but again, warranted. He kisses the corner of his mouth, then on his lips, just once. “Are you pitying me, by the way?”
“Pitying you?” Wonwoo has a lap full of Lee Chan, which is about to become a problem, by the way, and he’s asking if he’s pitying him. “No. God, no. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know,” Chan says slowly. He’s looking at Wonwoo’s lips now and Wonwoo’s hands are still laying lifeless at his sides, instead of all over Chan like they should be. “Just feels—y’know.”
“I don’t,” Wonwoo says, stupidly definitely, but like, he’s kinda been thrown through a loop here. But he sucks it up and does his best to pull it together, thank you very much. Bites back whatever nerves he has still been fighting and says, “But I can show you. Like—that I’m not pitying you. Because that would be… awful.”
Chan looks at him again, squinting, like he’s considering. Then back to his lips. Back up to his eyes. Is it hot in here or are Wonwoo’s glasses just all metaphorically steamed up?
“Kiss me again,” Chan says, demands it more like, but his voice still wavers slightly, and he’s still sitting so politely in Wonwoo’s lap, why the hell would Wonwoo deny him?
He wouldn’t, doesn’t, so he kisses him hard, Kwon Soonyoung be damned, and like, hell, capital H-Him be damned, too.
And Chan is good at so much; dancing, telling jokes, listening, laughing, going along with Seokmin’s improv, trot songs in karaoke, but he’s especially good at this, with his fingers slipping through Wonwoo’s hair, and his mouth slowly parting open to prod his tongue into Wonwoo’s, sweet. Wonwoo opens up easily, he’d be stupid not to, but especially so when Chan makes the tiniest noise in response, caught in the back of his throat but there, whiny, breathy, going straight to the primal part of Wonwoo’s brain that has taken unfortunate control these days.
Wonwoo might die here.
“You’re so hot,” he manages, honestly forces himself to say, still so close to Chan the words are practically put right into his mouth, their lips still brushing against each other.
“It was all the squats,” Chan says, and Wonwoo can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but he wants to argue, wants to tell him he’s like, always been hot Wonwoo is pretty sure, but then Chan continues instead—
“Hyung.” He’s whining a little. Oh, Wonwoo will definitely die here. “You said you were going to show me you’re not just pitying me. Touch me.”
His hands are still bunched into fists at his sides, balled up so tight he’s probably got marks from his nails in his palm. Which is like, embarrassing, probably, but then Chan kisses him again, arches his back a little, and holy shit—Wonwoo needs to touch him.
He places his hands on Chan’s waist—tiny, fits beneath his palms so well—and tugs him a little closer, closing around him just a little tighter, enough to have Chan kissing him again, harder, smile pressed against Wonwoo’s lips. If he tries to think about it, you know, along with everything else going on right now, Wonwoo can feel the flex of Chan’s abs, the way his muscles hitch a little in his stomach when he sucks in a breath, the taut pull of it in his thighs as he slips his hands to there instead.
Wonwoo’s about to point it out, say something, anything—probably another useless you’re so hot—when Chan rolls his hips again, this time with a bit more purpose, a bit more of an end goal.
“Fuck,” Wonwoo swears and Chan smiles like that was the end goal. “You’re so—“
“So?” Chan says, a little evilly, and then like he’s realized what the hell is happening, he closes in a little again. “This is—uh. Ok, right?”
Wonwoo nods so fast that he feels like his head might fall off. “Yes,” he allows. “Yes, you’re so—so. Wow.”
Chan honest to god giggles. “Oh,” he says. “Ok, cool.”
He kisses him again. More tongue, more deliberate rolls of his hips, and Wonwoo will be damned if he doesn’t take full advantage of it now. He lets his hands roam, map all the warm expanse of Lee Chan, from his waist to his thighs to a gratuitous squeeze of his ass—and ok, wow, the squats had to be doing something—and it’s then that Chan lets out the clearest noise Wonwoo has heard all night, a hyung, that’s so desperate, so pleading, it goes straight to Wonwoo’s cock.
“I want—“ Chan starts to say, hands on Wonwoo’s shoulders squeezing uselessly like he can’t even figure it out, or maybe he knows exactly what it is and he’s scared to say it, scared Wonwoo can’t do it. “Hyung.”
“I’m—here,” Wonwoo says, still fighting through the way his jeans are getting excruciatingly tight and the way he’s almost certain he hasn’t formed a single useful thought since Chan put his pretty lips on his. “Can I—? Let me help you. Make you feel good.”
Wonwoo surprises himself. Also, fuck if he knows what he means by that, but Wonwoo does have a track record of sleeping with a decent amount of people—not like he’s thinking of that right now, god, no—but they’ve all left pretty satisfied so he should be logically able to come up with something.
Chan looks like he’s going through about fourteen different emotions then, but he nods, kisses Wonwoo again, and beforeWonwoo can think much more of it, he snakes a hand between the two of them, blindly going for the button on Chan’s jeans, just thankful he can do this part smoothly enough so that he’s not a total embarrassment yet.
Chan’s hard. Wonwoo isn’t sure what he expected, I mean, there is obviously some mutual attraction here and Wonwoo is about hard as a fucking rock, but for some reason, he didn’t expect Chan to be. He feels simultaneously proud and also terrified. Pressure.
Still, he keeps it cool, tugs at Chan’s bottom lip with his teeth, and grabs hold of his cock, and it’s dry, and sort ofuncomfortable, but it’s Chan’s fucking dick in his hand, and when Wonwoo tries to stroke once, Chan practically preens, another whine slipping past his lips into Wonwoo’s own.
“Is this ok?” Wonwoo asks—handjobs really aren’t a bros thing—fuck what Seungcheol and Mingyu say—but Chan just nods, dips his head back a little and Wonwoo is just grateful that Chan is not looking at him for a minute because he’s pretty sure his eyes bulge out of his fucking head. God, Chan is hot.
“Your hands are pretty,” Chan is saying now, and oh, he’s looking at him again, Wonwoo should probably stop gaping and get the fuck back to work. He tries gathering whatever precum he can at the tip, drags it down a little more, but it’s still sorta dry, sorta uncomfortable and Wonwoo can’t really see what he’s doing because Chan is still so close, but fuck it, Chan’s telling him his hands are pretty, so he will die trying.
“My hands?” Wonwoo echoes, sort of mesmerized as Chan kinda rocks his hips again, chasing a rhythm that not even Wonwoo has found yet.
“Yeah, I like—“ Chan gasps. Holy shit. “Like them. They’ve always looked so nice. Feel so nice.”
“Oh,” Wonwoo marvels, “you like it now? Feels—how?”
“Good, I said,” Chan repeats, narrowing his eyes a little and Wonwoo feels something kick up in his stomach; want or excitement or just general nerves that are threatening him right now because like, yeah, he’s still kinda freaking out. “Fuck, hyung. Can I just—“
Chan stops him then, a gentle hand on his wrist as he pulls Wonwoo’s towards him, kisses his wrist, then his palm, and then does the scariest thing Wonwoo has ever seen him do, takes a few fingers into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, and Wonwoo really tries hard not to honestly come right there, over just some juvenile finger sucking. Ok. This is fine.
His tongue is hot and his mouth is wet, eyes still focused just on Wonwoo as he does—well, all that, working his spit between Wonwoo’s fingers before he finally pulls off with an obnoxious pop, holds Wonwoo’s hand closer to himself now and says, an instruction really, “Spit.”
Wonwoo does. He thinks he might die either way, so he spits in his own palm, watches Chan groan again, and then gets the silent hint to get back to his cock, still hard and leaking between them, and all because of Wonwoo.
He’s never coming back from this, probably.
Chan likes it better this way, though, or so it seems. He’s louder now, moans hardly muffled by Wonwoo’s lips anymore but instead released into the space between them, still stuffy with their shared body heat and suffocating tension, nothing but hyung, god, keep going, and a bunch of other expletives that Wonwoo is only half focusing on because his wrist is sort of cramping but he can’t lose this, not yet, not until Chan’s finished.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Wonwoo finds himself miraculously saying, honestly kinda shocks Chan out of it, too, and he even has the audacity to blush a little, like he’s not writing with his dick out in Wonwoo’s lap. Anyway. “So pretty, Chan-ah. God.”
“Stop,” Chan whines, and now Wonwoo thinks it could be time for his fun, if he wanted to, if he tried, at least.
“Stop what?” Wonwoo slows his hand, but not entirely. “This?”
“No, fuck,” Chan bites back. “I mean the—you can’t call me pretty when you’re—“
“Oh.” Wonwoo picks up speed again, just slightly, his heart is pounding so loud between his ears, that it’s almost like he’s working on autopilot. “Don’t wanna hear how pretty you look? That’s it?”
“That’s—embarrassing,” Chan groans, tightens his grip on Wonwoo’s shoulder, and then kinda slumps over him, lips brushing at the skin of his neck. “Hyung.”
“Hm?” Wonwoo’s hand is absolutely cramping now, especially with the new angle, but Chan’s mouth is on his neck, and it’s so hot all over, and he’s so hard, and it’s just Chan, Chan, Chan. “What is it? Tell hyung.”
“Holy shit, you’re so—“ Chan’s turn at a loss for words. The grip Wonwoo has on him is getting a little dry again, Wonwoo almost wants to ask him if he wants to pause and take this somewhere else, but then Chan starts again, whiny and breathless once more. “I think I’m close. What the fuck?”
“Close?” Wonwoo repeats, not judgey—he thinks he could come just from watching Chan come—but like, because of him?
“Yes, I’m—oh,” Chan gasps again, picks himself up from where he’d been pressed to Wonwoo’s side, and nods, wiggling his hips a little once more. He’s trying to fuck Wonwoo’s hand, which he would be more accommodating with if the angle allowed. It doesn’t really, so Wonwoo just goes faster, tighter, and hopes to god it gives Chan all he needs. “Fuck, this is so—“
Wonwoo is pretty sure he knows what he’s going to say. Ridiculous, insane, weird, probably, because again, handjobs aren’t really a bro thing, but—
“—so fucking hot, I’ve wanted—you for so long.”
Definitely not what Wonwoo expected, but like, ok, he guesses.
“Fuck,” Wonwoo swears now, and every so often Chan grinds into his lap just right, the material of his jeans grazing his cock with the perfect amount of friction that it hurts so good. He tries, albeit weakly, “Stop—wiggling.”
“Me?” Chan wiggles again like Wonwoo could be talking to anyone else here. “Why are you—oh.”
He gets it now, eyes all wide and glassy. Wonwoo is only mildly mortified.
“You’re gonna—?” Come, is the unspoken end of that sentence.
“Uh, yeah,” is the unfortunate answer Wonwoo has for him.
“Oh, wow,” Chan kinda laughs, and Wonwoo feels like he might die from humiliation before he even gets to finish because Chan is laughing at him, and then his eyes get impossibly darker and he grinds down hard now, and he— “That’s so hot, hyung, I want you to—can you?”
“What?” Wonwoo’s wrist is threatening to fall asleep. Are they both sure Mingyu isn’t coming home tonight, by the way? “I said I’m gonna come in my pants and you’re—“
“Hyung,” Chan says now, almost like he’s completely forgotten what they’re talking about, and he steadies himself back with both hands on Wonwoo’s shoulders, connects their lips again, and breathes hot into his mouth, sends chills throughout Wonwoo’s whole body.
It hits him then that they’re still entirely clothed, that Wonwoo hasn’t even seen Chan’s body yet, and now he feels like the world is ending and beginning all at the same time.
“I’m gonna—fuck, hyung, oh my god.”
Chan is just talking now—mostly nonsensical whines and pleas that Wonwoo tries to keep track of, but he’s never been the best multitasker and he’s learned now that if he swipes his thumb a certain way at the tip of Chan’s cock the same time he strokes up, Chan whines even louder, threatens even closer to spill over, so he focuses on that instead.
“Come on, Chan-ah,” he tries to coax him. “Come. For me, for hyung. Let’s see how pretty you are.”
“I told you that’s—“
Chan doesn’t finish his complaint, instead, it timed perfectly with the last twist of Wonwoo’s wrist needed to bring him to the edge, and so Chan comes—gorgeous, for the record—panting and body sort of shaky as he lets out a whine, a hyung, spilling all over Wonwoo’s hand, some onto their shirts. It does more for Wonwoo than he’d like to admit, probably.
No time, though. Not when he has to process the events of the last twenty minutes, hell, the last week, because it started one way and has now ended with Chan slumped over in his lap, regaining his breath while Wonwoo does his best to kiss wherever he can—hairline (sweaty) or his neck (also sweaty) or his cheek (sweaty, Wonwoo likes it all, though, sort ofwants to taste it.)
“Holy fuck,” Chan swears, chest still heaving as he pushes himself up, and it only takes him about four seconds to recalibrate and notice the cum still sticky on Wonwoo’s hand, and it’s then that Wonwoo realizes he is probably fucked.
“Hyung,” he says now, all low and wicked and Wonwoo is still terribly hard and scared, especially so when Chan reaches for his hand.
“What are you—hey, don’t you need like, a shower?”
“You’re being annoying,” Chan says. “Who takes showers that quickly after they come?”
Wonwoo goes to answer—me, he’s going to lie—before Chan takes his hand to his mouth again, cum stained fingers and all, and tucks them into the wet heat between his lips, and sucks again. Wonwoo’s imagination runs wild in an instant; Chan on his knees, Chan between his legs anywhere and everywhere, and it only takes that, plus a stupid, professionally trained roll of Chan’s dancer hips, until Wonwoo just fucking finishes—which is like, probably the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him.
Besides this whole situation that is.
“Oh my god.”
It’s Chan—Wonwoo knows that because his brain is completely void of any oxygen to actually function right now—and his eyes are still wide and he still looks absolutely wrecked, Wonwoo doesn’t even wanna think about how he might look after actually sucking dick because then he might get hard again, and he’s not too sure they’re in the market for that right now.
“Holy—Wonwoo.”
“Can you go away,” Wonwoo asks weakly. He wishes he could sink into the couch and disappear forever. He wishes for Jeonghan’s evil stuffed bunny to just fucking kill him somehow from whatever perch Joshua has probably placed her on. “This is like—probably the worst thing I could’ve done.”
Chan, which Wonwoo does not expect, actually fucking shoves him in the chest, like, hard.
“Are you stupid?” he asks. “That was so hot. Oh, my god.”
The last word kinda gets cut off, too muffled by Chan’s lips crashing to Wonwoo’s again, with a lot of tongue, and more groaning, and ok, this is actually really nice, he could probably get hard again.
“You’re really—“ Chan starts again, and then stops, looks around at the two of them, and sort of laughs. They're still dressed. And now definitely sticky. “Sorry,” he finishes.
“Sorry?” Wonwoo’s glasses are still all—smudged and metaphorically steamy. “That was—you don’t need to say sorry, I’ve been like, wanting to do that.”
“That?” Chan asks, has that annoying tilt to his voice again that makes Wonwoo’s stomach all tight. “Like, watch me eat cum off your fingers?”
“Not that necessarily, can you not—“ Wonwoo stops, sucks in a breath. “Ok. This is embarrassing again.”
“What’s embarrassing is how long that took to happen,” Chan says simply. He slides off Wonwoo’s lap, tucks his dick away, and Wonwoo misses his chance to even say goodbye. He hardly even got a good look. Tragic. “You could’ve been giving me killer handies months ago.”
“I guess?” Wonwoo says slowly. He’s still not entirely sure this isn’t an acid trip. “For the record, though, Soonyoungie will like, totally kill me when he finds out what just happened. He like, thinks he birthed you.”
“He sort of did,” Chan says, shrugs, and then he smiles again, sweet and also terrifying all at once. “Because for the record, he’s totally doing Seokminie hyung. And also—do you think you have enough energy to like, actually fuck me now? I mean, what’s your refractory period like? You’re kinda old.”
“I’m three years older than you?”
“‘kay, just checking,” Chan says, airly. He runs a hand through his hair. “So like, round two could hypothetically be on the table if you—“
“Yes,” Wonwoo says quickly, too quickly, probably, but Chan seems pleased and Wonwoo is starting to realize he might be a people pleaser. Or at least a Chan pleaser. “Whatever you like, want.”
“You, then,” Chan says, leans forward, and presses an oddly chaste kiss to the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth. “And then like, after you fuck my brains out we can talk. Because that should probably happen.”
“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo nods, because yeah, it probably should.
(Soonyoung really is going to kill him.)
Chan kisses him again. “But afterward.” Another kiss. “For now, my room.”
Wonwoo has been dying to see how all those weights Chan’s been lifting have paid off.
* * *
kwon soonyoung (2)
kwon soonyoung: you horny bitch. i know what you did with chan
kwon soonyoung: don’t check my location btw. because i’m definitely not at seokmin’s and also it’s not your business
jeonghannie hyung (4)
jeonghannie hyung: wonu
jeonghannie hyung: it’s the rabbit. you should’ve got one
jeonghannie hyung: the haunted rabbit is the key to getting laid. seriously. shua wants me sooo bad
jeonghannie hyung: wonu. my haunted rabbit